


Unforgettable

by teryarel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: snapecase, Friendly Adult, Friendship, Gen, Hot Chocolate, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Sandwiches, Spending a Day Together, Spinner's End (Harry Potter), Young Severus Snape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29435754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teryarel/pseuds/teryarel
Summary: Some meetings are fleeting, some leave an impression. Some rare meetings are unforgettable.
Kudos: 1





	Unforgettable

**Author's Note:**

> This was an entry for the 2021 [SnapeCase](https://snapecase.livejournal.com).
> 
> **Age-Range Category** : One  
>  **Character(s)/Pairing(s)** : Severus Snape, surprise character  
> 

The boy looked to be no older than five. His clothes were too big. So big, in fact, that they seemed to be an adult's clothes rather than a child's. A man's jacket hung over the boy's light frame like a coat. The dirty trousers were washed out and the legs were rolled up instead of having been cut down to the boy's size. Due to their size, they appeared to be wrapped around the body, bunched up and held in place by a sturdy cord. His boots were also too large, but seemingly a women's model instead of a man's that would have been even bigger. They were heavily scuffed but still serviceable, although they were caked with mud. He was wrapped into a scarf that was so long that it trailed behind him in the snow.

The boy stood in front of a shop's window, nose almost pressed to the glass pane, hands held behind his back lest his grubby fingers come in contact with the polished surface. His face was a mixture of three colours: his face was sickly pale while his cheeks were red from the cold, with dark smears across his nose and black bags beneath his eyes. A dark bruise stretched over his left cheekbone. The boy looked like the caricature of a pauper straight from a Dickens novel. But there was nothing funny about him. This was not a distortion by exaggeration. This was a real-life person. A child that screamed of poverty and neglect.

When he heard the man's voice the boy flinched and drew in upon himself, as if he was trying to hide behind his scarf, as if to appear even smaller, to avoid a scolding or even worse.

"Is this a good shop?"

"Dunno, was jus' lookin'." It was hard not to notice the defensive tone in the child's words. "Was never in."

"Ah, what a pity. I thought you could recommend some of the specialties they have."

The boy's face twisted — and if he had been older, the man would have called his expression a scoff. But surely a child his age would have no concept of irony, sarcasm or bitterness. Nevertheless, it seemed to the man that the boy knew all of these. He swallowed as the boy just stood there looking dejected. "Well, you seemed very interested in their offerings, so I thought you'd share your opinion."

"'pinion?"

"Yes. If you could have something from the display what would it be?"

The boy looked at the man with a long stare. "Anythin'?"

"Yes, anything."

"Why d'ya wanna know what I'd like? Maybe you like different things than me."

"Maybe. But I wouldn't even know where to start, so I thought you could point out something interesting."

Again, the boy stared at the man. Then, without turning or letting the adult out of his sight, he pointed at a box of chocolates. "Those. Mum says they're chocolate truff'es and taste good."

"Chocolate truffles? Good choice." The man smiled. "Have you ever tasted them?"

The boy's face twisted again into an expression that seemed out of place in a child so young. Instead of answering he just shook his head.

"Ah, I see. Would you like to try them?"

This time the sneer was clearly visible. "Why?"

"Because I know that everything tastes better if it is shared."

"Why d'you want to share wit' me?"

The man was taken aback by the boy's behaviour. Had someone offered him chocolate at that age he would have gladly taken what he could get. It occurred to him that this boy, even at his age, must know denial — and maybe even ridicule. "I want to share with you because you would appreciate my offer to share."

"You're mockin' me."

It was strange to hear such words uttered with such conviction from a child that would barely be in primary school. "I am not."

"Prove it!"

"Alright. Wait here." After the boy nodded the man entered the shop, bought a box of truffles and returned outside. The boy was waiting with his arms crossed. "Come," the man said.

"Where to?"

"One cannot share chocolate truffles in the middle of the street. It's too cold for that. And the salesgirl said these taste best with something hot to drink." The man looked at the boy expectantly but when there was no reaction he continued: "Do you know a café where we could get some hot drinks?"

The boy drew his brows together as he thought. "There's a pub down the street but that's only for adults. There's a corner house some streets away but the owner doesn't like me being there. Says I'm bad for business. Mum's told me there's a bakery that also has tea but that's further away."

"Tea sounds lovely. Let's go there then."

The boy shrugged and started walking.

The man asked many questions about the town, the places the boy liked, about his friends. The boy's answers were mostly terse and sometimes even monosyllabic. So, the man started to talk about the place he had grown up in, the streets with rows of houses that looked all the same, with neat gardens and white fences and nosy neighbours.

Finally, they reached the baker's shop and entered. It was a cosy place with a few tables that would have trouble to seat four people and a few longer tables with benches.

"Pick a seat and I'll bring something to drink."

The boy complied wordlessly.

After a minute the man returned with a tray upon which sat two cups and two plates with scones. He put a cup and a plate in front of the boy and took the other for himself.

The boy stared at the scones, then at the man.

"Go on," he urged. "Help yourself."

The boy's gaze turned sceptic. After a few moments of internal debate that were very obvious on his face he came to a decision and reached for the first scone, only to pull his hand back as if he had been slapped. Hard. With a wince he jumped up.

"Are you alright?"

"Hands," the boy muttered. "Needa wash my hands." And he slipped away from the table. When he returned his hands and face where scrubbed bright pink. Without a word he sat down and stared at the table.

"Your drink is getting cold," the man reminded softly.

Startled the boy picked up the cup and took a hasty sip only to stop abruptly. An appreciative hum was all the acknowledgment he offered but it made the man smile nonetheless.

"It's hot chocolate," he explained. "I find scones a bit too dry, myself. And the first drink on a day like this should be hot chocolate. Don't you agree?"

The boy nodded and continued taking small sips of the hot drink in between nibbles of scone.

The man frowned. "Don't you like the scones?"

"No sir, they're good. 's just — mum said to try an' saver things I like so I can hav'em longer."

The man nodded in understanding. "It's 'savour'," he corrected absentmindedly. "I had trouble with that for a long time. My friend always told me I was wolfing down everything I could, and it took me a long time to train myself out of that habit."

The boy looked at him strangely but said nothing. After a while of silence, he spoke up. "I've no friends." As the man shot him a confused look he elaborated. "Earlier you'd asked me 'bout my friends. I've no friends."

The man tried to smile at him and opened his mouth to say something when he changed his mind and asked: "What's your name?"

The boy cocked his head as if he had heard the strange undertone on the man's voice. "D'ya really wanna know?"

"Yes." The man straightened and looked into the child's eyes. "Yes, of course," he repeated.

The boy didn't look convinced but answered. "It's Sev'rus."

"Severus. That's a—"

"It's a bad name, I know."

"Who says it's a bad name? And that's not what I wanted to say."

"Really?"

"Yes. Really."

"What didja wanna say then?"

"I wanted to say that it's a unique name."

"Uneek?"

"Unique. A name that one doesn't forget. It means one of a kind. Special."

The boy's — Severus' eyes gleamed. "Special," he whispered.

"Yes. A special name for a special boy."

Severus' eyes dimmed. He sniffed and hid his crestfallen expression in his cup.

"Did I say something wrong?"

The boy shook his head.

"I'm sorry if what I said somehow hurt you. Please, Severus, look at me."

He sniffed again and wiped his face with his sleeve, leaving a fresh smear of dirt across his cheek and nose.

"Severus?"

"Don't call me that."

"Severus? But that's your name. If you don't like being called by your full name I could shorten it," he offered.

"No. Not that." And after a pause he added, "Special."

"I'm sorry. I don't understand."

Severus sighed. "What'd you call me instead?"

Now the man was really confused. "Call you?"

"Yes! You jus' said if I don't like it you'd shorten my name. So. What wouldja call me?"

His first impulse was to say 'Sev' but then he intuitively knew that that was just a reminder from some other time, from someone else, not that the boy would know that. It was enough that he knew, though.

The girl with the fire-red hair would one day call him Sev.

"Russ," said the man.

Severus' looked contemplating before he showed a hint of a smile. "I like that."

The boy didn't smile much, the man realized with a frown. A soft click tore him out of his musings. As he looked questioningly at Severus the boy once again flinched which only made the man's frown more pronounced.

"Sorry."

"What are you apologizing for?"

"Bothering you."

"Were you?"

Severus shrugged. "You were frowning," he admitted.

"Not at you," the man explained. "I was just thinking..."

"About?"

The man's gaze unfocused in deep contemplation. He knew that he mustn't do anything that he would love to do for this child. He could see the evidence of neglect and maybe even worse. Saw it, knew it, but must not act. "I wish I could do something."

Now it was Severus who was confused. "Whaddaya mean?"

The man swallowed and shook his head. "Nothing, Russ. Do you want some more hot chocolate?"

~ * ~

They spent the whole afternoon together at the bakery, sitting close together sipping hot chocolate and later tea, munching scones, chocolate truffles and sandwiches.

By the time Severus said he was full it had already turned dark outside.

"Don't you need to be home by now, Russ?" the man asked when he saw that it was probably past the boy's supper time.

"Nah," Severus shrugged carelessly, taking a last sip of tepid tea. "They know where I go and that I'll be back in time to sleep."

The man didn't want to point out the many troubling aspects of that simple sentence, so he decided to say nothing to that. "How about I accompany you home, Russ? Just in case." In case something happened to Severus on the way. In case he got into trouble.

It looked like Severus wanted to complain and ask for who-knew-what — although the man had a strong suspicion about what Severus might have wanted to say — but then, again, it showed that this was a child that had already learnt the meaning of refusal and knew what it was to go without even the basics. Severus picked up the last crumbs from his plate and nodded. "Yeah, I s'pose."

They bundled up into their coats and left. As they trudged down the snow-covered streets they quickly drifted closer and closer until their arms were brushing against each other. The man took Severus' hand in his and squeezed it lightly.

Severus' fingers closed tightly around his.

When they reached the house at the end of the street Severus turned towards the man. Then he frowned and cocked his head. "You never said your name."

The man laughed. "True. My name is Harry."

"Thank you," Severus said, eyes gleaming and with a full smile. "This was the best day ever, Harry. I will never forget it."

~ * ~

Harry stood watching the house long after Severus had disappeared inside. In the distance a church bell started striking midnight. "Yes," he said to no one. "I will also never forget it, Russ."

At the last toll of the hour the street stood empty, as if the man had vanished into thin air.


End file.
